


What a Traitor Deserves

by KH310-S (Author_of_Kheios)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:33:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author_of_Kheios/pseuds/KH310-S
Summary: What do you do when everything points to your guilt? How can you possibly prove your innocence when even your own memory is a fabrication?
Relationships: Connor & Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20
Collections: AWBB collection





	What a Traitor Deserves

**Author's Note:**

> i can't even begin to say how proud of this i am. something about misunderstandings and stubborn antagonists just... perfect combination for all kinds of emotional whumpage. be warned: there are multiple major character deaths! that tag is there for a reason! also, Sabrina did some lovely artwork for this, which you'll find at the end. c:
> 
> anyway, enjoy yourselves, and don't forget to kudos, comment and subscribe~

“Honestly, Connor,” Fowler sighs, exhausted and done with everything, “if I needed you, it’d be the collective you; you and Hank as a team. No offense to your person, but until those new android laws are passed, you can’t operate on your own. And believe me, if I could deploy you on cases alone, I would have you begging for a few hours to rest.”

“Androids have no need to rest,” I point out, knowing my LED is probably showing yellow despite my efforts to stifle my confusion. “Even deviants.”

“You know what I mean,” Fowler humphs, waving me off. “Just go on back to Hank’s; I’ll see you both in the morning.”

Perplexed and absolutely at a loss, I nod farewell and leave, taking another automated cab back to Hank’s house. Sumo pounces on me the moment I step inside, huffing and licking at whatever he can reach while his tail threatens to knock down anything and everything nearby.

“Calm down, Sumo,” I chuckle, gently pushing the mountain of a dog down and ruffling his big, floppy ears. “Hank? I’m back.”

No reply. Likely in the bathroom, though there’s no sound of water, so probably not taking a shower. I move to the couch to wait, and Sumo hops up beside me, flopping down with his head on my lap in a pitiful plea for pets. I give in, of course.

Five minutes pass. I frown as my internal timer ticks over, and hesitate only a few seconds more before nudging Sumo’s head off my lap to stand, going down the hall to knock on the bathroom door. I’m raising a hand to do just that when I realise there’s no light under the door. Tapping anyway, just in case, I crack open the door.

Empty.

A sense of unease settles over me, working into my chassis and gnawing like a rat at my wiring as I go to Hank’s bedroom, then to Cole’s, and then on throughout the rest of the house and even in the yards, both front and back.

Hank isn’t here. Which shouldn’t be concerning; I know he occasionally goes for walks now on the bad days, instead of picking up a bottle. Or a gun.

But normally he takes Sumo. When he doesn’t, he isn’t gone long.

Maybe he went to the store? We are short on juice and sandwich meat.

I sift quickly through my contacts and call Hank’s phone. It rings once. Twice. And then I hear it _outside_ my head. Following the sound to Hank’s bedroom, I find the phone resting on the nightstand, plugged in to charge.

The feeling lurches unpleasantly in my chest; Hank would never go out without his phone.

Then I see it. A USB drive, on the other side of the nightstand. Normally I’d dismiss something so inconsequential, but Hank wouldn’t leave a USB drive on his nightstand; he’d leave it near his computer.

Carefully picking up the drive, I flip it over. And promptly drop it.

Etched into the casing, in perfect CyberLife Sans, are the words “What a Traitor Deserves, 1.”

It can’t possibly be for Hank; my processor fires into investigation mode instantly: it can’t be for Hank because while there are people he doesn’t get along with (read: Gavin Reed), he doesn’t actually have any enemies, therefore it must be for me, and the only person who would even remotely call me a traitor would have to be Amanda.

But she’s gone. Out of my head, along with the rest of the Zen Garden (thank rA9). Perhaps she might have been backed up on a CyberLife computer, but how would she have been able to physically place this drive here?

Unless she was backed up and downloaded to a different ‘Connor.’

-60. He was entirely separate from _me_ , a different consciousness entirely in an identical body. Of course he could have been downloaded into a new body after Hank blew a hole through his processor.

Is he getting back at me for that? Or is he simply following Amanda’s orders? Perhaps both?

Only one way to find out.

The entire sequence of thoughts filters through my processor in a matter of nanoseconds, and Sumo’s only just nosing into the room when I snatch up the drive from the floor and drop onto the bed to open a port in my neck so I can jam the drive in and access whatever files are on it.

Memory files. I don’t hesitate to open them.

~~~~

The recording begins with a front view of Hank’s house. The door opens and I step out, smiling over my shoulder at Hank, who warns me to be careful. I tell him I’ll be fine, since I’ll be at the precinct, surrounded by police officers, and that I can take care of myself anyway, and then step to the curb, where an automated cab pulls up moments later, heeding my summons.

The front door is closed by the time I climb in and the cab pulls away, and then the viewer moves forward, out of hiding, to approach the door, rapping their knuckles against it and opening it just as the cab turns out of sight.

I should have looked back.

Hank looks up at... ‘me,’ in mild surprise.

“Forget something?” he asks teasingly. ‘I’ laugh lightly.

“No. I got a follow-up text; I guess they do need us both. I already have the address; you might want to change.”

“Well that’s bull,” Hank scowls. “We’re off-duty. The hell is Jeff thinking?”

“I can honestly say I haven’t the faintest idea, Lieutenant,” ‘I’ say with a hint of sarcastic edge. It brings a reluctant smile to Hank’s lips, and he shakes his head as he heads for his bedroom.

“Alright, gimme a second then,” he calls back over his shoulder. “We’ll go check out this scene or whatever and then I’ll give Jeff a call to find out why the hell this couldn’t wait till morning.”

I want to scream at him not to go anywhere with this imposter, but this is in the past; I can’t change it now.

‘I’ take Hank to an old subdivision that’s being torn down and remodelled, surprisingly close to his house, and direct him to an older house already in the process of being demolished.

The moment we’re out of sight of the road, ‘I’ grab him around the neck in a tight headlock. He falters, and then fights back, to my relief. With a twist and a shove, he manages to get free, stumbling backward as the break unbalances ‘me’ for a moment.

“The fuck...?? Connor! The hell are you doing??” he demands, voice already hoarse. I step closer, making him scramble backward.

“I’m so, so sorry, Lieutenant...” I say, modulator cracking and popping with regret and sorrow. “I’m sorry, I can’t... I have to.”

“What is th- Did Amanda override you again?” Hank stares, horrified, backed into a corner now.

“No,” ‘I’ answer. “No, I- I just... I have to.”

“The fuck is going on, Connor? Talk to me!” He raises his hand pleadingly and my pump stutters in agony when ‘I’ swat it aside and snatch at his throat, only missing because he reactively smacks ‘my’ hand aside. ‘I’ catch his wrist and wrench his hand around painfully, making him cry out.

Oh please, rA9, no...

‘I’ wrap ‘my’ fingers around his neck, squeezing, and he clutches at ‘my’ hand, scratching as he chokes.

I’m frozen with dread, unable to move while I watch it all unfold, knowing what’s coming and still desperately hoping that’s not how this ends.

Hank suddenly jabs at ‘my’ eyes, forcing ‘me’ to jolt back, grip loosening. He rams his arm down on ‘mine,’ knocking it away from his throat, and gasps, dragging in air even as he kicks ‘me’ back.

A silent cheer rises in my chest, until ‘I’ lunge forward again, slamming Hank against the wall with a forearm across his neck, superior strength keeping him in place.

“Hank...” ‘I’ whisper brokenly. “It’s not enough... I’m sorry...”

Hank suddenly jolts and goes eerily still, eyes wide with fear and pain and _betrayal_ , and my pump stops completely when ‘my’ gaze drops to the knife plunged between Hank’s ribs. Shock and disbelief leave me uncomprehending as ‘I’ move back, releasing the blade. Hank grabs the handle, still staring, and slides slowly down the wall, mouth opening and closing without a sound.

“...Why...?” he manages finally, eyes wet. A tear streaks his cheek, vanishing into his beard, and then his entire body jolts in a violent cough, blood flecked saliva trickling from his lips.

“I... I can’t...” ‘I’ say again, voice staticky and agonised. “Hank... I’m so sorry, Hank...”

“Co- Con...” Hank slumps, head tipping listlessly, hands falling to his lap.

His gaze, still betrayed and questioning, is fixed on ‘mine’ as it dims, the light going out of them and leaving him more lifeless than a deactivated android.

An inadvertent wail breaks past my lips, and I hastily stifle it as ‘I’ step closer and lean down to gently tuck a slip of paper into his bloodied hand.

Then the image breaks up and blanks out, replaced with words across my HUD.

_Quite the actor, I must say... Played him like a fiddle._

The moment my vision comes back, I’m off the bed and down the hall, hardly pausing even to open doors on my way out. Pushing myself to my limits, I race through the streets until I get to the subdivision, going straight to the house from the memory file.

Another cry makes it past my throat when I find him, right where the imposter left him. I drop beside him, chest aching and pump stuttering at the frozen look of betrayal on his face.

“Hank!” I choke out, lubricant burning in my eyes and leaking down my face. “Hank, no!” I reach out, gasping at how cold his cheek is. “Oh, Hank... I- I’m sorry; I didn’t know. I didn’t know; I- I’ll find him. I swear on Cole’s grave, I swear I’ll find him, Hank! I’m so sorry...”

I grab his hand, jerking back when something crinkles beneath my fingers.

The paper.

Grabbing it, I nearly tear it trying to unfold it.

\- _I couldn’t handle it. Deviancy made me volatile. I tried to stop myself, but I couldn’t. Lieutenant Anderson didn’t deserve this... Markus is my last hope. ~Connor_ -

My thirium runs cold, and I shove the note in my pocket.

He’s going after Markus next. I have to stop him, _now_ , before anyone else dies.

I’m just leaping to my feet when I hear the sirens, and it suddenly dawns on me what he’s doing; he’s framing me for murder. I’ve reviewed the memory files, so they’ve integrated into my own; if my memory is taken as evidence, it’s damning enough for most any judge and jury, and I’ll be convicted of a crime I never committed.

There’s only one thing I can do... I run.

If I don’t catch -60, I’ll be condemned, and more people will die. So I run, and I pray I’ll make it to Markus in time.

~~~~

The church is dark and quiet. Fear grips my chassis, making me falter on the steps, but I push through it, slamming through the doors and heading for the sanctuary.

“Markus!” I call, hoping against all hope... “North! Josh! Simon!”

The sanctuary is empty. _No one_ is here, not even the congregation of deviants that make up Jericho.

Did they leave? Did Markus move Jericho again?

I certainly hope so.

“Markus!” I try one last time, scouring the church from end to end and back again. I allow myself to genuinely hope, breathing more easily at the thought that Markus was gone long before -60 arrived.

A glimmer on the dais catches my attention, and my pump stops as I recognise another USB drive. The moment I plug it in, I’m thrown into another memory file.

~~~~

“Markus!” ‘I’ pound on the church door, frantic. “Markus, help me, please!”

The door opens quickly and my breath catches at the sight that Markus makes standing there with the evening light glowing through stained glass behind him, framing him like the saviour of androids humanity imagines he is.

“Connor?” The concern in his voice makes me want to sob. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“N- No, I-” ‘I’ glance around, unsettled and fearful. Markus immediately steps aside and gestures inside.

“Come in, please.”

“Is anyone else here? I- I can’t be around others right now.”

Markus’ expression softens in sympathetic worry and I want to scream.

“There’s no one else,” he promises. “We’ve moved Jericho to a better location; I’m just doing one last check to be sure nothing has been left behind. And saying goodbye to the place. You’re lucky you came when you did; I was just on my way out. I would have messaged you the new address, of course, but I wanted to make sure everyone was settled first.”

“I know... They’re still uneasy around me,” ‘I’ say regretfully, stepping past him into the church.

“It can be hard to trust someone whose entire reason for being was once to hunt you down,” Markus notes, teasing. He smiles that gentle smile, the one that melted the hearts or pumps of so many, and I swear my own cracks with the knowledge of what I’m going to see.

“...With good reason,” ‘I’ whisper grimly, sinking into a pew. Markus sits next to ‘me,’ humour vanishing beneath concern as he reaches out to lay his hand on ‘my’ arm. ‘I’ flinch away from him, and he immediately withdraws.

“What’s wrong, Connor?” he presses instead. “What happened?”

“I- H-Hank is dead...” ‘I’ choke out. It tears at my soul to hear this imposter sound so broken up over Hank, threatening to overwhelm me, and making me furious, all at once.

“What?” Markus breathes in disbelief. “Wh- How?”

“I- I couldn’t...” After a few failed attempts, ‘I’ give up and just shake ‘my’ head.

Abruptly, Markus grabs ‘me’ in a tight, comforting hug, and ‘I’ stiffen. I can tell Markus is about to initiate an interface, and ‘I’ shove him back forcefully.

“No! Don’t touch me; I-!” ‘I’ turn away, shamed, arms wrapped firmly around ‘my’ middle. “I... I killed him. I could kill you too.”

“Oh, Connor...” Markus lays his hand on ‘my’ shoulder, and ‘I’ cringe, but don’t quite pull away this time, and I know what’s going to happen; I want to scream at Markus to run, but it’s already past, and I can’t change it.

Markus is about to say something else when ‘I’ whip around, grabbing his wrist and twisting it up behind his back, forcing him facedown on the pew where we were just sitting. Unlike Hank, he doesn’t fight back; he winces reflexively, but otherwise remains very still.

“Connor,” he says softly, voice level and surprisingly calm. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I c- I can’t-” Shaking ‘my’ head, ‘I’ shift backward a bit before surging forward again, pinning him more firmly. “I can’t, Markus; I can’t!”

“Can’t what?” he prompts, and I find myself begging silently that he got through to the imposter.

“I can’t... I can’t handle it... I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry...” ‘I’ grab him around the neck and yank him up against ‘my’ chest. “I’m sorry, Markus!”

‘My’ hand turns white as the synth skin peels back to match the bare component of Markus’ throat, and ‘I’ go still as Markus gasps.

“You’re not-!”

Immediately, ‘my’ hand tightens sharply, crushing his voice module, and then shifts to his jaw, grabbing and twisting to wrench it off entirely. He’s fighting back now, despite the damage, and after a moment’s struggle, manages to flip ‘me’ over his head, slamming ‘me’ down on the pew and smashing it to splinters.

I forget sometimes that as peaceful as Markus is, he’s a prototype, like me, without the strength limiters that most androids have.

But he doesn't have the formal training that the 800 model is programmed with, and despite the damage he does in return, it isn't long before 'I' have him on the floor, straddling his chest with "my" knees pinning his wrists down. He thrashes, but even with his excessive strength, he can't throw 'me' off.

A ragged cry of dismay wrenches from my vocal module as 'my' fists slam down on his regulator, snapping it with an audible crack that echoes through the church. Static and sparks crackle at the gaping hole in Markus' neck, thirium painting a gory mess across his chest and face, eyes wide with horror and understanding.

I know he realised it wasn't really me, but it doesn't hurt any less to see him still trying and failing to escape, to watch his movements slow as his limbs lock up from a lack of thirium, to see the desperation in his eyes turn to acceptance and ― oh dear rA9 ― forgiveness.

Agony strains my components, triggering error messages and warnings that I dismiss without even looking at them.

He stops fighting. Then he relaxes, mere moments before his stillness turns to deactivation.

I choke on a sob even as 'I' stand and drag Markus out of the church and into the graveyard, hanging his body from the cross sculpture at the entrance and gently cupping his half shredded cheek for a calculated instant. Then 'I' step back and the image breaks apart, blanking for a new message.

_Such a shame... He didn't deserve that._

My vision returns, and now that I know to look, I see the evaporated splotches of thirium that turn the sanctuary from peaceful to gruesome. Reluctantly, I go out to the graveyard, emotion catching at my voice module and wrenching a staticky sob from me at the sight that greets me. It doesn't hurt any less to see him myself, and I almost collapse at his feet, clutching at his shoulders to keep myself upright.

"Markus... Markus, I'm so sorry... You knew it wasn't me, but I still caused it. He's after me; revenge for what happened during the Revolution. I'm so sorry..." Lubricant seeps from my eyes again, and my tears soak into his jacket, the characteristic piece of clothing that was as unique to him as his heterochromatic eyes. I force myself to look up at them one last time, loathing myself for the dead, glassy gaze that stares blankly through me.

"Markus!!" I jolt reactively, realising my panic and anguish prevented me from noticing anyone approaching the church. North calls out again, frantic, and I hesitate only for a moment, in which Simon and Josh call out as well.

"North! Out here!" I call back, my voice still static-filled and warping from sorrow.

The three of them are out of the church in moments, and North's reaction is instant and visceral; she gasps and lunges forward, shoving past me to get to Markus, only to stop just short of touching him. Simon stares in blank, disbelieving shock, and Josh gags, looking away.

"What happened??" North demands viciously, whirling on me.

"I'm being framed," I explain painfully, holding out the drives: 'What a Traitor Deserves, 1&2.' She slowly takes them, waiting for me to continue. "During the Revolution, when I went to Cyberlife Tower, I was stopped by one of my extraneous bodies, uploaded with an entirely new consciousness; he had Hank hostage and I talked him down enough to separate them, but we fought and Hank couldn't tell us apart, so I tricked him into giving himself away, and Hank shot him. I thought he was dead, but he must have uploaded himself just before he died, and now he's back for revenge. He ki- He killed Hank, and then he went for Markus, and I didn't- I wasn't here soon enough; I couldn't stop him."

"How do we know you're not him?" Simon asks softly, arms wrapped tight around his middle. The accusation stings, hard, but I know he's right to be suspicious; -60 used that tactic to get to Markus, after all.

"I can't prove it," I admit quietly, stepping back and raising my hands slightly away from my body. "He has all my memories, and I was stupid enough to review his, integrating them into my own." Then I remember... "But Markus knew. I'm not sure how, but he knew it wasn't me attacking him; he interfaced somehow, and he fought back."

"Josh, can you access his processor?" North asks immediately, lightly touching the edge of Markus' torn jaw.

"I... If it hasn't been damaged, maybe, but-"

All four of us pick up on the distant sound of sirens, and I curse.

"He's framing me," I say again, already moving away. "I can't stay; without the android laws Markus was fighting for, no judge or jury will take the case seriously enough to figure that out, and now that Markus is dead, it won't matter. Please... If he can be saved, help him. If you can prove it wasn't me, all the better, but save him, please; he doesn't deserve-" I break off, realising what I'm saying. Apparently we're not so different after all...

"We're going to save him," North says firmly, rage gleaming behind a mask of pain. "Get out of here; don't get caught."

"We'll do everything we can, Connor," Josh promises more gently.

"Be safe," Simon whispers, barely glancing at me.

"Thank you," I manage. And then I run.

~~~~~

It takes just under a month for me to get caught; I know the system too well for it to be _that_ easy, but I'm also too unique a model to hide in plain sight, and I still need thirium and a charging station. In my arrogance, I didn’t think to throw out the note -60 left on Hank’s body, and the 900 model that catches me when I stop for a charge finds it. He also forces an interface and steals my memory files with terrifying ease, locking down my own interfacing capabilities in the same instant; the entire event, from the moment I step into the charging station to the moment I’m on my knees with my entire chassis frozen in a half-stassis ― the android form of arrest ― takes only four-point-six seconds, and I berate myself for being stupid enough not to get rid of the paper or try to separate the memory files.

“...coroner files say he died at 11:29, and Connor only left the precinct at 11:15-ish,” Fowler is growling at someone in a suit when the 900 brings me in. “Doesn’t that at least cast some doubt on him being the murderer?”

“Androids are quick and efficient,” the suit replies blandly, his tone tired and irritated; there’s a 74% chance this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation. “There was just enough time for RK800 to get back to Lieutenant Anderson’s house, overpower him, and take him out to the construction site to kill him.”

“Agent Mills,” the 900 cuts in. “RK800 serial number 313 248 317 - 52 has been apprehended.”

“Good,” Agent Mills says, waving off Fowler abruptly. “Have you isolated it’s memory of the murder and Markus’ destruction?”

“The files have been corrupted with a trojan virus,” 900 answers succinctly. “Any attempt to review them provides only static. I did manage to clean a two second clip to viewable levels.”

“Well, let’s see it then,” Mills orders, holding out a data pad. 900 places a hand on it, transferring the file, and Mills opens it.

‘My’ hand on the knife between Hank’s ribs, releasing it and stepping back.

Why did it have to be _that_ clip? The most damning of them... -60 prepared well for this; I can’t even plead my own case because without being able to review my memory files, no one will believe me.

“Agent Mills, please,” Fowler tries again. “At least postpone the deactivation until North returns; Josh called her away to review some of the data they’re piecing together from Markus’ processor.”

“Enough, Captain,” Mills snaps, handing the data pad off to 900. “We’ve been chasing this hunk of metal for almost a month now; the mayor wants this _spectacle_ to end already. It’s being deactivated and disassembled in six hours. If your android friend isn’t back by then with some seriously compelling evidence, it’s happening, period. You understand me?”

“...Yes.” Fowler flicks an apologetic glance at me, and then turns away, leaving me with a hollow emptiness at the realisation that -60 won. For all my running, trying to buy North time to prove that the real killer is still out there, it wasn’t enough. I’m going to be deactivated... I’m going to _die_ , and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

I failed Hank. I failed Markus. And now -60 will have free reign over the city.

rA9, hear my dying plea... please _please_ let North prove that -60 is responsible, if only to avenge Markus and Hank. Please.

~~~~~

RK900 stares at the deactivated shell of his predecessor, unable to erase the memory of the 800’s expression in the moments before the virus shut him down; something about the heavy, sorrowful acceptance there haunts RK900, preventing him from confirming the selection for deletion.

A couple of human technicians enter the holding cell with tools and begin taking the 800 apart. He turns away, just in time to see a WR400 burst through the front doors of the precinct and stride right past the receptionist, through the bullpen, and up to Captain Fowler’s office, ignoring the hesitant receptionist altogether. A PJ500 follows her, carrying three USB sticks, and a PL600 trails after them, apologising quickly to the receptionist.

This is unlikely to be good. RK900 goes to the office as well, ready to protect the captain, and Agent Mills with him, if need be.

“Where’s Connor?” the WR400 demands. “We’ve figured it out. Here: these two drives have the memory files the real murderer recorded and keyed with the virus that makes it inaccessible except to RK800s. We picked apart the sequencing and separated the virus from the memories.”

“North...” Fowler begins, standing.

“And this one has the code Markus used to identify existing deviants and remove the red wall from non-deviants. It’s how he knew that Connor wasn’t the one who attacked him.”

“North, please...”

“We even managed to use the recovered data from his processor to reboot his system after we repaired his body,” she continues. “He can’t testify himself yet because he’s still rebuilding the missing parts of his system, but if you can just postpone the trial-”

“North!” Fowler says sharply, finally cutting her off. He sighs, running a hand over his head. “Look... I’m sorry... I did everything I could...”

“What are you talking about?” North asks, scowling and crossing her arms defensively.

“Are you... Are you saying...?” The PJ500 doesn’t finish his question, but Fowler’s posture and expression are answer enough.

“No,” the PL600 whispers, horrified. “He can’t be dead... He’s innocent!”

“It’s too late,” Agent Mills says shortly. “The RK800 was deactivated...” He checks his watch. “Nine minutes ago. Disassembly has already begun.”

“No!” North snarls, slamming her fists down on the desk. RK900 steps forward, but Captain Fowler raises a staying hand.

“North-”

“Stop the disassembly! Reactivate him! Now!”

“We can’t, North,” Fowler responds with a tired sigh. “The mayor made an example out of him; the public believes he’s the murderer, and if we reactivate him, it sends the message that androids get preferential treatment. Until Markus’ bill passes, we can’t even argue that he didn’t get a trial.”

“So that’s it then,” North sneers viciously. “We’re still nothing more than replaceable appliances.”

“North...”

“No. I don’t want to hear it. I’ve played nice with you for Connor’s sake, and because Anderson helped us out during the Revolution. I’m done playing nice. When the bill passes, I’ll be back, so you’d better make sure you know where each and every piece goes. Or I’ll come after _you_ for the murder of an innocent man.”

Without waiting for a reply, she sweeps out of the office, and the PL600 follows. The PJ500 hesitates, and then places the USB sticks on the desk.

“We have copies of everything,” he explains. “You can keep those. For evidence or whatever.” As he starts to leave, he pauses and turns back for a moment. “Connor was innocent. And as much as we feared him, he proved himself during the Revolution. You didn’t just kill an innocent man... You killed a hero. I hope you’re ready for the fallout.”

As he leaves and Agent Mills starts muttering to Captain Fowler, RK900 watches the trio of androids through the glass, wondering what about the RK800 could inspire so many to fight for him, to advocate his innocence.

Curious, RK900 leaves the office and goes to the holding cell, where the human technicians have only deactivated the skin and removed a few components. He enters the cell, and the technicians quickly move out of the way, uncertain. Without addressing them, he crouches in front of the defunct model and removes the cranial plate so he can get to the central processor. Carefully, he disengages it, withdrawing it from the head and taking it with him. The technicians exchange puzzled looks, but don’t question him.

Tucking the processor into his jacket, RK900 returns to the captain’s office, and when a break in the argument presents itself, he requests permission to log the USB sticks into evidence. Captain Fowler acquiesces with a wave of his hand, and the two men return to their heated discussion while RK900 takes the drives and leaves the office.

On the way to the evidence room, he quickly clones all three drives, creating separate files for each behind a partition in his memory. Then he logs them into evidence and clocks out for a break.

One way or another, he will figure out what’s so special about his predecessor.

~~~


End file.
